Too surprised by his touch, she didn’t reply.
They ate in silence, watching people stream past them. Some walked lazily through the square with their families, while others rushed off to an unseen destination. Eventually Alma noticed a pair of young women carrying books and toting shoulder bags, walking in the direction of New York University. They laughed, their heads inclined together. It was a rare thing to see female students, but Alma knew the idea was becoming more and more acceptable. She wondered what the women were studying. Commerce or education? Literature? A yearning gnawed at her as she considered the unlimited time to learn and study, to develop in a chosen trade. This is what she wanted. The freedom to choose her future.
While she was lost in thought, the iced cream started to melt, and a sticky river of chocolate ran over the lip of the cone onto her hand.
“Shall we go?” John said. “I’ll see you home, and then I’d better be on my way. Long day tomorrow.”
“Yes. Thank you for the iced cream.”
As they stood and wiped their hands, she realized John hadn’t asked her anything about herself. Not her work, her thoughts. Her dreams. He didn’t know a single thing about her. Her eyes found the figures of the young women blending into the crowd, nearly gone from sight, and her heart squeezed. She glanced back at her middle-aged fiancé, who knew nothing about her. She wanted to like him—and he had been kind to her—but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to see him as anything more than a coworker and one of her stepfather’s friends.
She couldn’t accept the life laid out before her. She couldn’t, no matter what her parents, or anyone else, might say.
And in that instant she knew that she was the only one who could change it.
35
The days grew warmer, and soon, midsummer pressed down upon the city. Charles and Mrs. Cheedle threw open the windows in the evenings to usher in the cooler breezes. Francesca and Claire prepared lighter fare of cold vegetables, bread, cheese, and eggs in exchange for the heavy meat dishes and sauces. All the while, Francesca pretended nothing had changed, that no child grew inside her, bringing with it a storm of upheaval. Stubborn in her denial, she returned to Tompkins Square Park every Sunday. Johanna had begun to greet Francesca with a smile, piling her plate high and asking her about her work. The other German families invited her to share stories from home and laughed along with her as she tried to learn a few German phrases. They were good people, even if they had been slow to accept her at first. It was one of few consolations while she guarded her terrible secret.
She wondered how their hospitality would change when they discovered the truth.
Each week that passed, her stomach grew a little rounder, her bosom fuller. At night, though exhausted, she lay awake, wondering how she would explain the pregnancy to her friends and torturing herself with Fritz’s imagined reply. Would he be disgusted or outraged she’d hid the pregnancy from him for so long? Perhaps he would simply console her the way a friend should.
He was only a friend, she reminded herself.
Somehow this truth brought more pain than the thought of his projected outrage.
She walked to the park, and by midafternoon, several more of Fritz’s friends joined their party, making the group larger than usual. The men threw off their jackets and hats and rolled their sleeves to their elbows; the women sought refuge in the shade beneath their parasols or a shade tree. Helene Bach showed as well, radiant in pink crepe that made her skin as fresh as strawberries and cream. Fritz and Alma’s friends gathered around her as she told stories and laughed prettily. Alma spent a little time with her friend named Emma, who didn’t seem to like Francesca and kept her distance. All the while, Francesca watched the boisterous group from her quiet spot on a bench, contemplating what it must be like to live a life that seemed mostly carefree. She’d never known such a luxury and now, with an unwanted child on the way, would never have the chance to experience it. Her mood sank at the thought, and she decided it best to head home rather than put a damper on the festivities.
Her eyes found Fritz among the men.
In that moment, he looked over his shoulder, searching the crowd as if some internal signal had prompted him. When his eyes captured hers, he broke into a smile and winked.
Her heart skipped a beat. What was she to do?
Alma strayed from Emma’s side and, with a few lanky strides, joined Francesca, a look of concern on her face. “Are you all right? What are you doing over here?” Her hat threw shade across her face in a jagged pattern.
Francesca longed to end the secrecy, and she knew Alma had a secret of her own, given the way she’d acted the last several weeks. Perhaps they could trade. Unburden themselves as friends do. And as sisters do. Alma was the closest thing she had to a sister anymore.
If only Francesca hadn’t become pregnant, everything would have been all right, simpler. Instead, all she’d worked for would be lost and this life she’d begun to enjoy would end. She brought a fist to her mouth to suppress an unexpected sob.
“Fran? What is it?” Alma patted her on the back. “What’s happened?”
“I’m all right. I was just… I needed a moment alone.”
Alma frowned. “I’m sorry. I can go. I wanted to ask your opinion about something, but—”
“Please, I’m glad you’re here.” Francesca threw her arms around Alma in an unexpected embrace, as if holding on for her life. She couldn’t lose her friend, not now, not because of this. She made a silent vow to tell Alma sooner rather than later. Alma worked with the dreadful inspector, after all, and had a right to know the truth. For now, Francesca wasn’t ready, not yet. She shook her head. “Soon, I promise,” she said. “For now, tell me what’s on your mind.”
Alma laced her arm through Francesca’s and tugged her off the bench to a walking path leading to the street. “I don’t want the others to hear.”
She studied Alma’s expression, noticing the worry lines in the corners of her mouth. “Is everything all right?” Francesca asked.
Her friend didn’t reply as she led Francesca to a spot beneath a leafy maple. Its branches waved in a breeze that was becoming more of a strong wind by the minute. The sky looked bruised with clouds edged in purples, gray, and midnight blue. A summer storm was imminent.
“I don’t know what to do!” Alma blurted out, her eyes filled with despair. “Oh, Fran, I’m engaged to be married!”
Stunned by the news, Francesca gaped a moment without reply. “When did this happen? I didn’t realize… Oh no, you aren’t happy about it. At all.”